


(you're) his warrior

by colferstilinski



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, M/M, Masturbation, Mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 01:06:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colferstilinski/pseuds/colferstilinski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first etching of the mark appears when Derek is eight years old.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(you're) his warrior

The first etching of the mark appears when Derek is eight years old.

He’s running barefoot through the woods, swerving past tall trees while Laura and he play a round of friendly tag. As usual, Laura is already nipping at his heels since she’s got two years of speed and stamina on him but that doesn’t deter him despite the loud wails from her to give it up already.

That’s when it happens.

A sudden rush of heat slams into his small frame that winds him off-par, making him crash face first onto a heap of grass and landing onto a pile of dry autumn leaves that’s been raked by the wind. It blooms quickly in his veins, twists and moulds into something that is a definite no-good feel until they settle onto his arms.

Derek only realizes that he’s screaming himself hoarse, cheeks already wet with tears, when he hears the loud whine from Laura at his side as she starts to howl for help.

The pain doesn’t stale.

Instead, it bleeds into his fingertips that has him sink his blunt nails into the mud, hoping for it dissolve into a pale throb from the coolness of Earth. It doesn’t. It swivels down to the center of his wrist, blooms there like its burning sinew at the thin veiny skin.

It hurts so badly that Derek vomits out his lunch at the side.

After that, he sees black.

-

“Der?”

The voice is faint and vulnerable and it echoes in the haziness that swirls in Derek’s head. He only starts to bear some consciousness when a hand starts to nudge at the edge of his ribs.

Derek knows that it’s Laura though. Her scent is soured with worry and permeating in the room like she’s actively trying to shove that awful distaste on his tongue.

“ _Shit_ ,” Laura exhales relieved, warm breath fans across his face after he tries to squint his eyes open. They crack from the dried tears and his face feels too raw as if it’s been through some serious chafing against sandpaper.

“You okay, Der? What happened out there?” She asks.

“Language, Laura.” Derek hears his mother smacking her tongue from the other side of the room, padded footsteps following.

“But, mom!” She whines. “Derek actually stopped, dropped and rolled. Yes, that’s a dog joke. I think. I may need Uncle Peter to rehash it with him again. Anyway, it was _intense_. You were constantly screaming about your hands and I—”

“Now, give your brother some space. I don’t think he would like it that you’re hovering. No matter how much you try to deny that you’re not a caring sister.”

“Am not,” Laura sasses back and Derek feels warm from the undignified huff she lets out.  “I’m the big, bad sister. _Grr_.”

Talia laughs warmly. “Shoo, child.”

“Yes, _mother_.” She practically _sings_ while floundering away.

“Mom?” Derek stirs again, voice cracking at the edges. “What’s going on?”

“Hello dear,” She ushers to him, mattress dipping with her weight as she sidles beside him. “How are you feeling? Better?”

“S’not so painful anymore.” Derek replies, grimacing. “Think Laura would let me off the hook that I fainted like a little pansy?”

Talia smiles down at him, “She’s your sister. I’m sure she will.”

“Heard that!” Laura shouts from downstairs, voice sharp through the enhanced hearing of his wolf. “Also, don’t think you’re getting off that easily, baby brother. That’s what big sisters do. They make your life _mi-ser-able_.”

Derek groans, snuffling his nose into the pillow in hopes that he might succeed in burying himself inside all that cotton. He doesn’t and starts to sulk about it.

“There, there,” Talia says motherly. “Do you want me to take a look at your hands? Laura’s been really protective of you ever since Uncle Peter brought the both of you home from the woods. Some might even _reconsider_ all that nonsense she blabbers about being this big ol’ meanie.”

Derek snorts because Laura squawks at that and holds his hands out weakly, muscles aching dully with the stretch.

Talia hums quietly, examining.

“Was it because of the shift?” Derek asks, hopefully. He’s been anticipating for his first shift ever since he’s been taught about it—he just can’t wait until the wolf isn’t just simmering under his skin like its being forbade going any further.

She shakes her head, a tight smile wearing on her lips.

“No, sweetheart, remember when we’ve taught you that born wolves only get their first shift during their first heat? Yes, and that would be around the start of your puberty. You’re barely ten.”

Derek bites the insides of his cheek, “Is something wrong with me then?”

“Oh, baby. There’s nothing wrong with you.” Talia assures, running her thumb across his cheek and the tension slowly seeps from her face. “It’s just something that I haven’t, well, been… how shall I put it? _Expecting_ to happen to our family since it hasn’t been documented in our bloodline. The last one ever heard was from a century or more and she was situated in the central parts of Europe.”

“Is that… a good or bad thing?” Derek asks uneasily.

“I…can’t be the judge for that, Derek. I’m sorry.” Talia apologizes slowly, frowning and she continues. “What I’ve known is that it’s a connection. Rare, but it happens.”

“A connection?” He raises a curious brow, queasiness settling on his stomach like lead.

Instead of waiting for a reply, Derek hesitantly glances down at his hands that are limp against his blanket clad legs. It’s stark against the irritated skin and the first thing he notices when he sees it. Two perfect circles inked in bold against the raw and blotchy skin and they overlap against one another.

It looks like a common tattoo but on closer inspection, Derek sees that the skin there is covered with a light sheen of shimmer, highlighting it at angles where the light bounces off it whenever he tilts his hand.

It’s mesmerizing… in a slight macabre way.

“Yes,” She croons, patting him softly on the thigh. “A connection.”

Derek doesn’t get any further explanation after that because she pulls the covers up to his armpits and tucks him in.

“Get some rest, sweetheart. We’ll talk later when you’re feeling better and your Father is back home from work.” She must have seen the apprehension over his face because she smiles warmly and says, “I promise.”

He reluctantly heeds.

-

When he finally wakes, his parents round him down to the living hall and explain the situation carefully to him without using any crude terms and yet not missing a beat of oversized detail at all. Derek finds himself horrified that he’s being put through the same agonizing talk about mates, sex and all that jazz.

Laura, cunning as she is, stumbles down the staircase, guffawing at his demise. He uses her as an escape plan.

His dad, Charles, drags him back to the couch by the ear until he’s whining into submission.

Derek absolutely does _not_ sulk the entire way.

-

The first few years that comes after that, Derek is completely captivated by the mark. He finds his eyes always straying to the mark at his wrist as if it was burning once again whenever he looks at it for far too long. Or when morning classes start to get a little too draggy, he would caress it with this thumb, feeling reverent.

Soon after, the thoughts came and it sucks him in like a gaping black hole. How that out there in this world, there’s someone just for him and as of right now, living and existing for him.

That this person—werewolf or not—is so wholly _his_ that they carry the same exact mark on their wrist too.

It makes his wolf brim with contentment that when his first heat strikes, it isn’t as unbearable as how Laura deemed it to be. He slips into his first shift fluidly and dances below the full moon with his entire family.

Of course that’s when things start to take a downfall.

-

When Derek turns sixteen, his wolf starts to _pant_ and it gets antsy at the slightest things.

It claws inside of him like the worst alter-ego (Jiminy Cricket ought to teach it some lessons about being a good conscience) and he can’t seem to tame it no matter what he does. Talia even suggest that he takes up nightly run-ins with Charles in the woods so that he could get some of the restlessness out of his system.

It doesn’t help much though, but he does it every night for weeks until he familiarizes the entire outline of the forestry.

Some days though, like today, he loses it.

Derek’s walking pass a couple that’s indiscreetly making out along the hallway at school during lunch. He’s never seen them together before and thinks to himself that they’ve probably just gotten together which is why they’re just short of dry-humping each other in public.

That’s when Derek accidentally takes an inhale through his nose and the burst of pheromones and smell of wet teenage arousal assaults him, making him choke on it. He sinks his claws deep into his thigh to remain some sort of composure with the pain that comes and dashes out of school, missing the rest of the day’s classes.

Derek hides in his room the whole afternoon and jerks his cock filthy in hopes that he could forget about that damn mark on his wrist that’s slowly driving him into insanity.

Or out of come.

-

Derek’s nineteen and burning the midnight oil for finals of freshman year. He’s spent the whole of last year having weekend long lessons with Uncle Peter and Aunt Mariah about control—about finding an anchor that should be root to keep his wolf at bay.

“Just because you’ve had easy heats and shifts doesn’t mean that the wolf understands true control.” Peter said one afternoon when Derek’s sulking at the television. “Control has to be harnessed and moulded into you like a primary defence.”

So Derek drops his head and nods.

Now, his head is throbbing in a tell-tale way that he’s been studying for way too many hours without adequate breaks in between. Huffing, he tosses the pen he’s holding on the desk and watches it land with a soft _thwack_ before he stretches his arms out.

A deep rumble resonates in his chest when the bones of his vertebrae crack.

That’s when he notices the mark starts to glow on his wrist, flakes of gold runs and gleams until it overruns the dark outlines of the circles. They look otherworldly and he brings his hand closer, watches the flutter of light dance under the dull fluorescent study lamp.

“ _Huh_ ,” Derek hums, marvelling.

Seconds later, his stomach flops heavily and it clenches down hard as if he just got punched in the abdomen. He heaves, feels his dick stirring in his boxers, thickening under the too thin cotton. His balls start to tighten its hold like he was about—

He comes in his boxers without any warning.

Derek’s catching his breath, eyes shut as he clutches on the edge of the table while his cock twitches in his soiled underwear, a dark stain evident at the crotch.

The mark isn’t glowing anymore when he checks again.

-

It doesn’t happen again until two years later when Derek’s twenty one.

He’s out for his first college party that Laura drags him to, complaining endlessly about his lacklustre social life and how he has been brooding about some stupid connection that has fully overtaken all the decisions he makes.

Derek’s eyes burn beta-blues, growling at her to shut up.

Laura looks at him, placated before she says. “Also, dipshit?” Her eyebrows are doing this… this _thing._ It should be amusing at any other context if her face wasn’t looking so horrifyingly intimidating. “It was mom’s idea. Yeah, suck it up and go put on your best wear.”

Derek looks down at what he’s wearing. It isn’t much since it _is_ laundry day—a simple navy Henley that’s baggy from being well washed and khaki quarts that has one too many loose threads at the leg holes.

He’s also wearing flip-flops.

“This is my best wear.” He says indignantly because he likes to test Laura, likes pushing her limits.

It’s how their sibling relationship works. Derek pisses her off and in turn, Laura acts like she really hates the world, especially him, when she really doesn’t.

Laura’s face sours, “We are not blood-related,” and drags him out of the house.

-

Derek’s nursing a warm red plastic cup of beer while he sits at a shaded corner of the apartment. The owner of the place apparently still lives in the eighties and doesn’t know that neon wall lights and horrid poster cut outs of boy bands just doesn’t cut it anymore.

The music is pulsing through the speakers though. Something current and probably in the billboard charts since it carries a nice, familiar ring to it which Derek thanks higher deities because he can tolerate the scrappy wallpapers but to sit through listening to music from a time period where he isn’t even born yet?

Yeah, _no_.

Derek bobs his head to the catchy tune, tries to relax a little from being crammed up in a small apartment while inhaling second-hand weed smoke.

He isn’t relaxing, by any means.

Of course it’s at this time where his life decides to take on the saying of go big or go home.

Or well, it goes hard. _Really_ hard.

The blood rushes down south at such a short span of time that it makes him a little woozy and he manages to spill a little beer down the front of his shirt, seeping through the cotton. It cools a little of his overheated skin so Derek doesn’t mind it all that much.

He tries to find a possible way to escape through the flurry of sweaty people dancing and talking without them noticing that he’s sporting the damnest of hard-on—there isn’t.

So he slips off the couch and turns to face the wall behind.

He then makes a mistake of inhaling through his nose.

It just… all goes to shit there.

The pungent smell of sweat and liquor annihilates him that it urges a dribble of pre-come while his cock starts to thicken in his slacks. The head of his dick catches against the elastic band of his boxers, confined, and Derek wants so badly to readjust himself.

Then, a cool like sensation slaps against his crotch that has the hair at the back of his neck stand and Derek bites on his bottom lip, hard.

It feels like someone’s… _stroking_ his cock, hands wet with spit or lube.

Derek presses his balmy forehead against the wall and tries to reign in the moan he wants to let out.

He comes in his pants two minutes later, panting hotly into the hand that’s pressed against his mouth and the other still clutching on the cup that’s already squashed in his palm.

Yeah…

Derek should have listened more intently to what his parents spoke about the connection.

-

It doesn’t happen that often but Derek starts to carry a spare change of underwear in his bag, just for safety precaution.

-

It all goes swell the next few months until one night when he’s tossing and turning in bed, urging himself to get some major shut eye before a dreadful morning class where he has to get up at ass crack of dawn.

He feels it first—a light heat that starts to radiate at his wrist until it starts to sparkle with warmth in his veins.

It’s the same sensation he felt when he was eight and had sleepless nights where his body was aching and raw from recovering the immense pain of having something _burn_ his insides. Even days later, his body still feels off-kilter, like his skin is still scalding to wear any clothes and there’s an unreachable itch that tremors in his bones.

The glow of his wrist illuminates the entire room. It’s different than the other times though, instead it’s a pale cerulean colour that flickers and glows into the shadows of the night. It meshes with flecks of amber and rose, like the faeries Talia used to tell for his bedtime story.

The colours remind Derek of passion.

His nipples start to pebble under his tank top and there’s a gentlest hint of fingertips brushing against the hardening nubs. Derek’s breath hitches when he feels a pressure squeezing onto his left nipping, just surging hard enough before it rubs out, soothingly, like balm.

Another hand scratches against his chest, blunt nails raking against the hair that leads to his belly button until it dips to the sharp V of his hipbones, palms moulding into the shape of them.

“Fuck,” Derek exhales loudly.

The ghost pressured hands never stay at one place for long. They move fast, fidgety, like it doesn’t know which part to explore and instead tries to cover as many places it can reach. It ducks under his boxers, grabs onto the base of his cock before it strokes up, dry this time.

He feels his foreskin stretching with the pull of it before it slowly slides down, pulling it back until the head pokes out from under the hood. Derek pushes the covers off and tugs his underwear down until they sit below his balls.

His cock is already at half-mast and quickly hardening from the constant stroking movements that the hand seems to have continue with.

Until a slap of cold and wet nudges at his perineum, startling him that he arches his hips off the bed, trying to jerk himself away. It continues, regardless. Two fingers probe around there, slicked and sliding against his crack and then palms onto the meat of his ass.

It fleets over at the flutter of tight muscles, scratching at the wrinkled skin there before it dips in.

Derek groans, twisting sheets into his hands.

He feels his asshole clenching down on it, adjusting to the foreign feeling of having something _there_ —something inside him. It’s gradual, the build, just jabbing movements first before he acclimates to it and it starts to twist in circles, the finger curls up as it slowly retrieves out.

Derek spreads his legs wider, cants his hips up like he’s trying to give the hand more accessible area to move—to finger fuck him with.

The fingers return, wetter now, and two digits start to press in slowly. It nudges it’s way in, scissoring as it stretches out to the girth of his hole—that’s when he comes.

Derek doesn’t even realize that he’s the one tugging furiously on his cock. It spasms wildly in his hand, coating his fingers with thick and sticky white as he milks the orgasm out of him. He’s panting, spiralling, giving in to the heavy feel of euphoria that’s quickly settling in his bones.

When he checks the mark in the morning, there are two new words inked under the circle, a small cursive print.

_Hieroenim Stilinski_

-

Derek ditches his morning class and when Laura storms into this room like a blaring alarm, he throws a pillow at her. When he wakes up the second time, he goes to wash up and then starts to an extensive search on Google on his laptop.

The last word is of Polish origin—a surname and then he continues searching for the first word. It’s a handful to pronounce and Derek has a hard time trying to get it to sit on his tongue correctly but when he finally accomplishes, his heart _flutters_.

It’s an uncommon name, yes, but it’s stated to be a sacred name and it makes the wolf inside him rumble so pleasantly that it can almost be mistaken as purring.

Hieroenim means warrior—to rule. At least that’s what the website tells him. Derek’s wolf has been in this constant high, preening all morning. It’s smug pressed under his skin, mewling: _Look, Derek, look. This is your mate. Your connection. They’re yours as much as you are theirs. A warrior. Your mate is a warrior, strong and vigilant—yours._

Derek searches Stilinski in Beacon hills because why not?

He gapes for a long while when the search results return with a headline report. A deputy Stilinski, John, in Beacon Hills managed to capture a hit and run driver that ran over his wife not too long ago, leaving her with scratches and tiny glass shards in her skin. She survives though and Derek heaves a sigh of relief.

It’s because of his outstanding work attitude towards deriving justice that he gets promoted to the Sheriff position in the department.

At the end of the report, there’s an image attached. It’s a picture of John with his family, probably taken a few weeks after the accident. His wife has a lithe frame and unruly brunet hair that sits just below her shoulders and eyes wild with life and joy. John, however, had lightly bronzed hair and a face that reminds him a lot of Charles. There’s a hint of jovialness behind it though, like he was about to laugh before the picture was taken.

In between them is a little cherubic boy with a buzzed head. He’s probably in his early teens since his cheeks are fat with adolescence and both of his hands are doing a thumbs up.

On his wrist though, there’s a mark.

The same, identical circles Derek has on his wrist. The same one that he has traced with his own fingers countless of times since he got it. His _connection_.

Derek’s hand trembles when he calls Laura and Talia.

-

Talia tells him not to do anything brash.

She says it calmly over the phone, tries to level out with him while Derek stutters out repeatedly, stubbornly, that this is the connection that he’s been seeking for years. For this boy and his little flushed cheeks and eyes so bright that it burns out all the hazel in them.

“Derek Hale, you listen to me, young man.” She reproves. “This boy is barely even of age. Yes, he may carry your mark but he’s still _human_. You may have forgotten that but there are human laws, just the same as for us werewolves. If you approach him now, where do you think you’re going to end up?”

Derek paws at his face, answering meekly. “…With him?”

“No, sweetheart,” Talia smacks a tongue. “In _jail_. Now, just give it a few years. Let him come to you.”

“A few years!” He shouts exasperatedly, pacing his room. “I’ve already waited thirteen years, mom! _Thirteen!_ I—”

“What’s a few more when you’re going to spend the rest of your life with him?” She retorts, raising her voice a little. “A connection like this doesn’t go away, Derek. It stays, grows and matures. It’s more than taking a mate, more than just being with him. He’s your other half. That’s why the mark you have on your wrist has two circles. He’s the completion of you, and you are the completion of him.”

“But—” Derek argues, not giving up.

“Have I ever been wrong?”

“No, but—”

“No more buts.” She finalizes. “Laura’s going to come pick you up in thirty minutes. We’re going to discuss what you’re going to be doing for the next few years.”

Derek groans ruefully, scratching his face. “I’ve got my own car, mom.”

“Well,” Talia starts. “Your sister is a better driver.” She says. “Stay put and if I hear one word from Sheriff Stilinski about a man who’s molesting his son—”

“Jesus, _mom_.” He whines. “I have better control than that.”

Talia laughs and it fizzles over the line. “I’ll see you later, sweetheart.”

Derek absolutely does not storm his feet, huffing in anger when Laura opens the door of their apartment, crowing in obnoxious laughter.

-

Uncle Peter suggests a ton of ideas that evening. Most of them so crude that it makes Derek grimace in distraught, shaking his head disapprovingly.

There’s one about Las Vegas and finding a part-time job as a stripper cop while he guffaws, saying that it’ll be a lovely irony since Hieroenim’s dad is the sheriff, badge and all, and how he’ll be able to sweep his feet off with a nasty kink.

Peter goes down in the history of worst uncle ever.

Aunt Mariah swoops in minutes later and steals away the wine glass he’s nursing.

Laura proposes New York when everyone starts to settle down. Derek hems and haws at it for a while, weighing his decisions before he agrees.

-

New York lets him forget about time.

It’s a fast paced moving city and for the first few weeks, Derek feels buzzed out of his skin from the livelihood of the city. He doesn’t sleep much because of the never-ending wails from sirens at the corner of the street he lives.

Derek only starts getting used to it when he and Laura goes for pizza at two in the mornings.

-

It’s November when his heat comes and for the first time, it’s agonizing and it _aches_ down to the core.

He writhes on the floor, whining for _him_ as he fucks his cock into the roughness of his hand.

On the fifth day, when the haze starts to lift and Derek starts to feel less like death and his cock isn’t burning from all the chafing—he feels those hands on him again. It caresses and touches him so gently that Derek can’t hold back the shift.

His teeth starts to pry from his gums, elongating with each stroke against his cock until his claws dig into the wood of his flooring.

Derek cries when he comes, dick twitching weakly as it spurts the last of his orgasm.

-

He’s twenty six when Laura asks, “You ready, Der?” as they check in for their flights.

Derek looks at her, trembling a little, voice cracking. “What—what if he doesn’t want me back?”

“Still the gloomiest brother,” She sighs and then scuffs him on the head in which he yowls at her, flailing his hands at her general… _face_. “Shut up. You know he’ll love you the minute he looks at you.”

Derek scowls, crossing his arms. “You don’t know that.”

“Oh, but I do, brother of mine!” She sings, eyes crinkling with laughter. “And if he doesn’t… well. You just gotta be miserable your entire life! Sucks to be you.”

“You’re the worst. The. Absolute. _Worst_.”

-

After they land in California and finally settle down at their old apartment for a few hours, they drive up to the family house in Derek’s car. It’s a mini SUV that still works even though it hasn’t been properly pampered after long time while Laura’s car, a sleek black Camaro, is completely dead and beyond.

Laura sulks the entire way there.

When they open the door, Talia squeals and squeezes the both of them in a bone-cracking embrace, rambling endlessly about how her babies are never going to leave this town ever again. _Ever._ She says it about five times and Laura starts to turn purple from suffocation while Derek huffs a laugh against her cheek.

When he manages to escape the wrath of his mom, Charles pulls him into a one armed hug, whispering, “There’s a bottle of opened wine in the kitchen. Help yourself. God knows you kids need it.”

Derek smirks at him and hurries to the kitchen, leaving Laura defenceless.

-

“So tell me about New York!” Talia yells happily once they finish with the greetings and are rounding around the dinner table.

“ _Mom_ ,” Derek shakes his head, wistful. “We call you every day for the past five years. You know enough about New York.”

“It’s not the same.” Talia insists and then pinches Charles under the arm. “Charles! Tell them it’s not the same.”

Charles gives a pleading look to both him and Laura. “Do what your mother tells you, pups.”

“New York’s fine, mom.” Laura sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes. “The big lights, gay parades and all that snazz. We’ve got pictures in our camera. Now,” She pauses. “What we really want to know, and by we I mean _Derek_ , is how’s that… kid?”

“Oh!” Talia shrieks, eyes mischievous. “Derek, sweetheart, you’re going to love hearing this.”

Derek groans.

-

He’s called _Stiles_ now. Stiles Stilinski.

Talia explains it’s because nobody, _except Derek_ , can properly pronounce his name and he started using the nickname when he turned fourteen. Derek glowers at everyone because apparently his mom decides to leave out valuable information for four years.

It’s definitely not because he could have Stiles on his tongue as he moans during personal time instead of tumbling through a garble of words.

Laura grins at him as if she knows _exactly_ what he’s thinking.

Derek _hates_ her. He does.

He really, really does.

-

Derek’s out grocery shopping after being three days of being back in town because—because Laura’s a butt face. She complains that there’s nothing in the refrigerator and aggressively jabs him in the rib that he should head down town to refill their cupboards with non-expired food.

He seethes quietly the entire drive there.

Derek only starts to thank Laura when he sees Stiles at the vegetable section.

He’s a lot different now, much taller than how Derek remembers him from that picture, and has definitely grown out from the chubbiness at his cheeks. He also shares the same frame like his mother, bony at the shoulders but yet lean and with wiry muscles that show through the thin shirt he’s wearing.

Stiles looks good, strong— _his warrior_.

Derek’s legs carry him there subconsciously because he just loves public humiliation.

“Uh,” Derek starts and his mouth apparently doesn’t do anything but gape. Like a dying fish.

Stiles looks up at him from where’s he’s rifling through three cabbages in his arms and then simultaneously drops them all onto the cart again. He cringes and then makes a weak laughter at that, “I’m way smoother than that most of the time. You just… heh, startled me?”

Derek looks at the cabbages and then snaps them back at him because why the fuck is he wasting seconds looking at fucking vegetables when _Stiles_ is in front of him?

“Hi,” Derek says lamely and does a two finger wave. He feels the sleeves of his shirt riding up against his arm and he… doesn’t make an effort of pulling them down.

Stiles tracks the movement, eyes roving at his wrist where he knows the mark is for show and then he snaps them back at his own wrist in wonderment.

“Derek?” He squawks, jerking. “ _Derek Hale?!_ ”

Derek smiles and he knows his entire body is shaking, thrumming with pre-adrenaline while his wolf howls in excitement. “That’s me, heh.”

The next second he’s on the floor from when Stiles pounces on him with a hug.

Derek throws his head back and laughs freely, wrapping his arms around Stiles and pressing his face into the crook of his neck. He’s waited too many years and nights where he tosses in bed unknowing where his mate is or if he’s ever going to where this mark will lead him to—he’s finally whole.

He’s going to send Laura a fruit basket. _A gift hamper._

Fuck. He’ll buy the empire state for her.

-

Derek meets Stiles’ parents a month later and shakes John’s hand cordially and then hugs Kathryn, Stiles’ mother. When Stiles presses a chaste kiss at his cheek, muttering that he’s going to take a quick shower before they leave, he talks to them.

He promises that if he ever hurts Stiles, he’ll gladly take bullets. Plural, because just the thought of him hurting Stiles, his… _world_ , it makes everything ache that he has to take a few minutes to control his breathing.

John looks at him, appeased while Kathryn just grins at him, winking.

He knows immediately then that Talia and Kathryn are going to be the best of friends.

-

Stiles accidentally knows about werewolves when they’re together for four months. He has Aunt Mariah’s three old devil spawn (because whatever that comes out of Peter is just… evil) starts sprouting fur when Stiles blows a raspberry into his stomach.

Derek’s face pales when Stiles looks at him, eyes wide.

“Dude,” He finally says, breaking the silence and then starts to snort. “I totally called it!”

“What.” Derek blanches and he thinks it’s lunch that’s threatening to roll out from the back of his throat.

“Yeah man,” Stiles continues and continues to tickle little Corey in his lap, eyes crinkling whenever Corey lets out a sharp shriek of laughter. “Your eyebrows just aren’t… possibleon a human.”

“My eyebrows.” Derek states blankly.

Stiles throws his head back, cackling. Derek gets chills at the back of spine. “I mean, c’mon. It’s not like I wasn’t expecting it since I have a totally magical mark on my wrist since like, uh, the day I was born?”

Derek stills and then asks apprehensively. “You’re… okay with it?”

“Well…” Stiles drawls and worries his bottom lip against his teeth. “I’ll only start being okay with it if you show me all the superpowers you have—and if like x-ray vision is one of them. Oh man! Can you see my glorious nakedness all the time?”

Derek snorts against Stiles’ shoulder because, _god_ —he’s going to have this, have _Stiles_ , for the rest of his life and Talia was right. Those few years were really nothing in comparison to this.

-

Derek’s doing some light reading when he feels someone palming against his dick. He rolls his eyes and then slides his phone out from his front pocket and dials Stiles’ number.

Stiles sounds like a little shit when he answers the phone, “Hey Derek! Sup?”

Derek growls a little because he knows Stiles shivers whenever he does that. “Starting without me?”

Stiles laughs.

Derek knows he’ll never get sick of that sound ever.

**Author's Note:**

> sol: NO WAIT what if like you're so connected to someone that when they touch themselves you can feel it and it's like they're touching you AND DOUBLE PLEASURE
> 
> Yes, sol is my moose and actually my soulmate. I actually am just her slave as I write all her ideas.
> 
> This was actually supposed to be really porny... but then Derek and his theatrics and drama-mama moments the fEELS then sTEREK and then it just blew out from there
> 
> there should be more porn at the end but god i sUCK im sry :* love me
> 
> NOTE: Stiles' real name is total farce, i googled names that ends with '-nim' and then it blew out from there. Yes, i actually pulled it out of my ass.


End file.
